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The  Industrial 
Workers  of 
the  World 


All  Wa^e  Workers  Should  Join  the  Union 

None  But  Wage  Workers  Can  Join  the  Union 

THE  UNION  OF  THE  MEN  WHO 
ARE  NOT  AFRAID 


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TO  FAN  the  FLAME 
OF  DISCONTENT 


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The  working  class  and  the  employing  class 
have  nothing  in  common.  There  can  be  no 
peace  so  long  as  hunger  and  want  are  found 
among  millions  of  working  people,  and  the 
.ew,  who  make  up  the  employing  class,  have 
all  the  good  things  of  life. 

By  organizing  industrially  we  are  forming 
the  structure  of  the  new  society  within  the 
shell  of  the  old. 


Rear  4 1 2-20  Front  Ave.,  SPOKANE.  WASH. 


THE  RED  FLAG 
By  James  Connell. 

The  People’s  flag  is  deepest  red, 

It  shrouded  oft,  our  martyred  dead; 

And  ere  their  limbs  grew  stiff  and  cold 
Their  life-blood  dyed  its  every  fold. 

Chorus: 

Then  raise  the  SCARLET  STANDARD  high 
Beneath  its  folds,  we’ll  live  and  die, 

Though  cowards  flinch  and  traitors  sneer. 
We’ll  keep  the  RED  FLAG  flying  here. 

Look  ’round!  the  Frenchman  loves  its  blaze. 
The  sturdy  German  chants  its  praise; 

In  Moscow’s  vaults,  its  hymns  are  sung, 
Chicago  swells  its  surging  song. 

It  waved  above  our  Infant  might 
When  all  ahead  seemed  dark  as  night; 

It  witnessed  many  a  deed  and  vow. 

We  will  not  change  its  color  now. 

It  suits  today,  the  meek  and  base 
Whose  minds  are  fixed  on  pelf  and  place; 

To  cringe  beneath  the  rich  man’s  frown, 
And  haul  that  sacred  emblem  down. 

With  heads  uncovered,  swear  we  all,  RBC 
To  bear  it  onward  till  we  fall;  NcU 

Come  dungeons  dark,  or  gallows  grim, 

This  song  shall  be  our  parting  hymn! 

"The  poor — is  any  country  his?  What  are 
to  me  your  glories  and  your  industries — they 
are  not  mine.’’ 


An  Injury  to  one  is  an  injury  to  all. 


HALLELUJAH 
Tune;  “Revive  Us  Again.” 

f 

O,  why  don’t  you  work 
As  other  men  do? 

How  in  hell  can  I  work 
When  there’s  no  work  to  do? 

Chorus: 

Hallelujah,  I’m  a  bum! 
Hallelujah,  bum  again! 

Hallelujah,  give  us  a  handout — 

To  revive  us  again. 

O,  why  don’t  you  save 
All  the  money  you  earn? 

If  I  did  not  eat 

I’d  have  money  to  burn! 

O,  I  like  my  boss — 

He’s  a  good  friend  of  mine; 

That’s  why  I’m  starving 
Out  in  the  bread-line! 

I  can’t  buy  a  job— 

For  I  ain’t  got  the  dough; 

So  I  ride  in  a  box  car. 

For  I’m  a  hobo! 

Whenever  I  get 
All  the  money  I  earn. 

The  boss  will  be  broke, 

And  to  work  he  must  turn! 


Workers  of  the  World,  Unite!  You  have 
nothing  to  lose  hut  your  chains. 


THE  MARSEILLAISE 


Ye  sons  of  toil,  awake  to  glory! 

Hark,  hark,  what  myriads  bid  you  rise; 
Your  children,  wives  and  grandsires  hoary — 
Behold  their  tears  and  hear  their  cries! 
Behold  their  tears  and  hear  their  cries! 
Shall  hateful  tyrants  mischief  breeding. 
With  hireling  hosts,  a  ruffian  band — 
Affright  and  desolate  the  land. 

While  peace  and  liberty  lie  bleeding? 

Chorus: 

To  arms!  To  arms!  ye  brave! 

Th’  avenging  sword  unsheathe! 

March  on,  march  on,  all  hearts  resolved 
On  Victory  or  Death. 

With  luxury  and  Pride  surrounded. 

The  vile,  insatiate  despots  dare. 

Their  thirst  for  gold  and  power  unbounded. 
To  mete  and  vend  the  light  and  air. 

To  mete  and  vend  the  light  and  air. 

Like  beasts  of  burden,  would  they  load  us. 
Like  gods  would  bid  their  slaves  adore. 
But  Man  is  Man,  and  who  is  more? 

Then  shall  they  longer  lash  and  goad  us? 

Chorus: 

O,  Liberty!  can  man  resign  thee? 

Once  having  felt  thy  generous  flame. 

Can  dungeons,  bolts  and  bars  confine  thee? 
Or  whips,  thy  noble  spirit  tame? 

Or  whips,  thy  noble  spirit  tame? 

Too  long  the  world  has  wept  bewailing 
That  Falsehood’s  dagger  tyrants  wield. 

But  Freedom  is  our  sword  and  shield; 

And  all  their  arts  are  unavailing! 


Chorus: 


OUT  IN  THE  BREAD  LINE 


(Give  us,  this  day,  our  daily  bread.) 

Out  in  the  bread-line,  the  fool  and  the  knave, 
Out  in  the  bread-line,  the  sucker  and  slave. 
Coffee  and  doughnuts  now  takes  all  our  cash, 
We’re  on  the  bum  and  we’re  glad  to  get  hash. 

Chorus: 

Out  in  the  bread-line,  rain  or  the  sunshine. 
We’re  up  against  it  today — 

Out  in  the  bread-line,  watching  the  job-sign. 
We’re  on  the  bum,  boys,  today. 

The  employment  office  now  ships  east  and 
west. 

Jobs  are  quite  scarce — they  are  none  of  the 
best; 

Grub,  it  is  rocky — a  discount  we  pay; 

We  are  dead  broke  and  we’ll  have  to  eat  hay. 

We  are  the  big  bums,  the  hoboes,  and  “vags.” 
O,  we  look  hungry,  our  clothes  are  all  rags; 
While  a  fat  grafter,  sky-pilot  or  fake. 

Laughs  at  our  troubles  and  gives  us  the 
shake. 

O,  yes,  we’re  suckers,  there’s  no  doubt  of 
that! 

We  live  like  dogs,  and  the  boss  he  gets  fat; 
God  help  his  picture,  when  once  we  get  wise. 
He’ll  be  the  bum,  and  we’ll  be  the  swell  guys. 


One  Union,  One  Latel,  One  Enemy. 


THE  BANNER  OF  LABOR 
Tune:  Star  Spangled  Banner. 

Oh  say,  can  you  hear,  coming  near  and  more 
near 

The  call  now  resounding:  “Come  all  ye  who 
labor”? 

The  Industrial  Band,  throughout  all  the  land 

Bids  toilers  remember,  each  toiler’s  his 
neighbor. 

Come,  workers,  unite!  ’tis  Humanity’s  fight. 

We  call,  you  come  forth  in  your  manhood 
and  might. 

Chorus: 

And  the  BANNER  OF  LABOR  will  surely 
soon  wave 

O’er  the  land  that  is  free,  from  the  master 
and  slave. 

The  blood  and  the  lives  of  children  and 
wives 

Are  ground  into  dollars  for  parasites’ 
pleasure; 

The  children  now  slave,  till  they  sink  in 
their  grave — 

That  robbers  may  fatten  and  add  to  their 
treasure. 

V/ill  you  idly  sit  by,  unheeding  their  cry? 

Arise!  Be  ye  men.  See!  the  battle  draws 
nigh. 

Long,  long  has  the  spoil  of  labor  and  toil 

Been  wrung  from  the  workers  by  parasite 
classes; 

While  Poverty,  gaunt.  Desolation  and  Want 

Have  dwelt  in  the  hovels  of  earth’s  toiling 
masses. 

Through  bloodshed  and  tears,  our  day  star 
appears, 

INDUSTRIAL  UNION,  the  wage  slave  now 
cheers. 


‘THE  ROLL  CALL” 


Tune:  “When  the  Roll  is  Called  Up  Yonder.” 

Up  and  down  the  street,  we  walk  around; 

Until  our  feet  ai»e  sore, 

For  a  job,  a  job,  a  job  most  anywhere. 

The  employment  shark  will  gather 
Easy  suckers  by  the  score 
When  you  buy  a  job  out  yonder  in  despair. 

Chorus; 

When  you  buy,  a  job  up  yon-der, 

When  you  buy,  a  job  up  yon-der. 

When  you  buy,  a  job  up  yon-der, 

When  you  buy  a  job  out  yonder  in  despair. 

Shall  we  labor  for  the  grafter. 

From  the  dawn  till  setting  sun? 

Shall  we  all  his  graft  and  hard  work  meekly 
bear? 

When  we’ve  worked  a  week  we  owe  the  boss. 
For  all  the  work  we’ve  done. 

When  the  driver  yells,  “Roll  out  boys!”  are 
you  there? 

Chorus: 

When  the  dri-ver  yells,  “Roll  out,  boys!” 
When  the  dri-ver  yells,  “Roll  out,  boys!” 
When  the  dri-ver  yells,  “Roll  out,  boys!” 
When  the  driver  yells,  “Roll  out  boys!”  are 
you  there? 

You’ve  been  robbed  by  the  employment 
sharks; 

They’ve  kept  you  on  the  bum; 

If  you  get  the  job  you’ve  bought,  the  case  is 
rare. 

Be  a  man  and  join  your  UNION! 

Then  the  boss  to  us  must  come; 

When  the  grafters  have  to  travel,  we’ll  be 
there. 

Chorus: 

When  the  graft-ers  have  to  trav-el. 
When  the  graft-ers  have  to  trav-el. 
When  the  graft-ers  have  to  trav-el. 
When  the  grafters  have  to  travel,  we’ll  be 
there. 


WORKING  MEN,  UNITE 
Tune;  Red  Wing. 

(Composed  by  E.  S.  Nelson.) 

Conditions  they  are  bad, 

And  some  of  you  are  sad; 

You  cannot  see  your  enemy, 

The  class  that  lives  in  luxury. 

You  workingmen  are  poor, — 

Will  be  for  evermore, — 

As  long  as  you  permit  the  few 
To  guide  your  destiny. 

Chorus: 

Shall  we  still  be  slaves  and  work  for  wages 
It  is  outrageous — has  been  for  ages; 

This  earth  by  right  belongs  to  toilers. 

And  not  to  spoilers  of  liberty. 

The  master  class  is  small. 

But  they  have  lots  of  “gall.” 

When  we  unite  to  gain  our  right. 

If  they  resist  we’ll  use  our  might; 
There  is  no  middle  ground. 

This  fight  must  be  one  round 
To  victory,  for  liberty 
Our  class  is  marching  on! 

Workingmen,  unite! 

We  must  put  up  a  fight. 

To  make  us  free  from  slavery 
And  capitalistic  tyranny; 

This  fight  is  not  in  vain. 

We’ve  got  a  world  to  gain. 

Will  you  be  a  fool,  a  capitalist  tool? 
And  serve  your  enemy? 


There  is  a  bunch  of  honest  workingmen; 

They’re  known  throughout  the  land. 
They’ve  seen  the  horrors  of  the  bull-pen. 
From  Maine  to  the  Rio  Grande. 

They’ve  faced  starvation,  hunger,  privation; 

Upon  them  the  soldiers  were  hurled. 
Their  organization  is  known  to  the  nation 
As  the  Industrial  Workers  of  the  World. 
Then  hail  to  this  fighting  band. 

Good  luck  to  their  union  grand. 

Chorus. 

They’re  all  fighters  from  the  word  go, 

And  to  the  master 
They’ll  bring  disaster. 

And  if  you’ll  join  them 
They’ll  let  you  know 
Just  the  reason  the  Boss  must  go. 

They’ve  faced  the  Pinkertons  and  Gatling 
guns 

In  defense  of  their  natural  rights; 

They  proved  themselves  to  be  labor  sons 
In  all  of  the  workers’  fights; 

They  have  been  hounded  by  power  un¬ 
bounded 

Of  capitalists  throughout  the  land, 

But  all  are  astounded,  our  foes  are  con¬ 
founded. 

For  we  still  remain  a  union  grand. 

Then  hail  to  this  fighting  band. 

Good  Luck  to  their  union  grand. 

Chorus. 

You  live  on  coffee  and  on  doughnuts; 

The  Boss  lives  on  porterhouse  steak. 

You  work  ten  hours  a  day  and  live  in  huts; 

The  Boss  lives  in  the  palace  you  make. 
You  face  starvation,  hunger,  privation. 

But  the  Boss  is  always  well  fed. 

Though  of  low  station  you’ve  built  this 
nation — 

Built  it  up  upon  your  dead. 

Then  when  will  you  ever  get  wise. 

When  will  you  open  your  eyes. 

Chorus. 


GOOD-BYE  DOLLARS,  I  MUST  LEAVE 

YOU. 

Tune — “Dolly  Gray.” 

Looking  at  the  job  signs,  one  winter’s  day, 
I  saw  a  working  stiff,  and  heard  him  say: 
“I’m  fairly  on  the  hog,  and  I’ll  have  to  buy 
a  job. 

And  for  the  job  my  last  two  dollars  pay; 

I  guess  I’ll  take  a  look  inside,  and  see 
If  there  is  any  job  that  will  suit  me.” 

He  said:  “What  little  dough  I  have  got  will 
have  to  go,” 

And  as  he  went  inside  he  murmured  low: 
Chorus. 

“Bood-bye,  dollars,  I  must  leave  you. 

For  a  job  with  you  I’ve  got  to  buy. 
Something  tells  me  I  will  need  you. 

When  I’m  hungry  and  get  dry. 

Hark,  the  employment  shark  is  bawling. 
For  that  job  he  wants  his  pay. 

Soon  to  the  boss  I  will  be  crawling. 

To  make  wealth  for  him  each  day.” 

He  went  inside,  and  this  I  heard  him  say: 
“I’ve  come  to  buy  a  job  of  you  today.” 

The  employment  shark  said:  “Yes,  I’ve  got 
a  job,  I  guess, 

But  two  dollars  for  that  job  you’ll  have  to 
pay; 

The  job  I’ll  send  you  to  is  far  away. 

The  board  is  high  and  wages  low,  they  say; 
The  camp  is  full  of  bums  and  the  bunks  are 
full  of  crumbs.” 

Then  again  I  heard  that  sucker  softly  say: 
Chorus. 

“Good-bye,  dollars,  I  must  leave  you. 

For  a  job  with  you  I’ve  got  to  buy. 
Something  tells  me  I  will  need  you. 

When  I’m  hungry  and  get  dry; 

Hark,  the  employment  shark  is  bawling, 
For  that  job  he  wants  his  pay. 

Soon  to  the  boss  I  will  be  crawling. 

To  make  wealth  for  him  each  day.” 

-rn?en  4j‘5 


MEET  ME  IN  THE  JUNGLES,  LOUIE. 

Louie  was  out  of  a  job, 

Louie  was  dead  on  the  hog; 

He  looked  all  around, 

But  no  job  could  be  found. 

So  he  had  to  go  home  and  sit  down. 

A  note  on  the  table  he  spied. 

He  read  it  just  once,  and  he  cried, 

It  read,  “Louie,  dear,  get  to  hell  out  of 
here. 

Your  board  bill  is  now  over  due.” 

Chorus. 

Meet  me  in  the  jungles,  Louie, 

Meet  me  over  there. 

Don’t  tell  me  the  slaves  are  eating. 
Anywhere  else  but  there; 

We  will  each  one  be  a  booster. 

To  catch  a  big,  fat  rooster; 

So  meet  me  in  the  jungles,  Louie, 

Meet  me  over  there. 

Louie  went  out  of  his  shack. 

He  swore  he  would  never  come  back; 

He  said,  “I  will  go,  and  take  the  first 
.  freight. 

My  friends  in  the  jungles  to  see. 

For  me  is  waiting  out  there. 

Of  a  Mulligan  stew  a  big  share. 

So  away  I  will  go  and  be  a  hobo. 

For  the  song  in  the  jungles  I  hear.” 

Chorus. 

Meet  me  in  the  jungles,  Louie, 

Meet  me  over  there; 

Don’t  tell  me  the  slaves  are  eating. 
Anywhere  else  but  there. 

We  will  each  one  be  a  booster. 

To  catch  the  scissor  Bill’s  rooster; 

So  meet  me  in  the  jungles,  Louie, 

Meet  me  over  there. 


MEETING  TIME  OF  THE  I.  W.  W.  LOCAL 
UNIONS,  SPOKANE,  WASHINGTON. 

Building  Constructors’  Local  Union,  No.  223, 
meets  Mondays  at  8  p.  m. 

Hotel  and  Restaurant  Workers’  Local 
Union,  No.  . ,  meets  Wednesdays  at  8 


p.  m 


Public  Ser^^ce  Workers’  Local  Union,  No. 
434,  meets  Fridays  at  7  p.  m. 

Italian  Branch,  No.  1,  of  Local  Union,  No. 
434,  meets  Tuesdays  at  8  p.  m. 

Austrian  Branch,  No.  2,  of  Local  Union,  No. 
434,  meets  Thursdays  at  8  p.  m. 

Mixed  Local  Union,  No.  222,  meets  Sundays 
at  3  p.  m. 


Executive  committee,  composed  of  two  dele¬ 
gates  from  each  union  and  branch,  meets 
Sundays  at  11  a.  m. 

All  meetings  are  held  at  the  large  head¬ 
quarters,  rear  412-14-16-18-20  Front  Ave¬ 
nue,  Spokane,  Washington. 

Library  hours,  9  a.  m.  to  9  p.  m. 

Street  meetings  held  when  opportunity  per¬ 
mits.  _ 

Regular  propaganda  hall  meetings  held 
every  Tuesday,  Thursday,  Saturday  and 
Sunday  at  8  p.  m. 

Free  Employment  Office  for  the  members. 


Til  INUM  ftlNT  M  rtlMTIM 


BLANK  BOOK  MAKBBB|  BfOKANB. 


